


Cooking Anxiety

by sailorgreywolf



Series: Rarepair Week 2018 - PortEng [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cooking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 11:39:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15929678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorgreywolf/pseuds/sailorgreywolf





	Cooking Anxiety

England already knew this was not the best decision he had ever made as he set the oven. He had been told enough about how abhorrent his cooking was to the average person. But, this was an important occasion, and being banned from the kitchen was not an option.

He glanced over at the bread dough that was sitting on the counter, and felt at least a temporary calm. Nothing had gone wrong yet, so far as he could tell. He had chosen the simplest thing he could possibly make for this dinner, and he was already fretting over it. 

For once, he aimed to be impressive instead of just tolerated at a table. He even dared to hope that he could make something that people would compliment. It made it worse that he was not in his own kitchen, but rather in the warm, tiled kitchen of Portugal’s kitchen in his house. His usual culinary failures would look even more hideously out of place here.

The room smelled fantastic already from the vegetables and onions that his boyfriend was sautéing on the stove. It already smelled better spiced that anything England made. 

Portugal had his back to him and was swaying slightly in time to the upbeat music playing in the kitchen. England could hear the quite humming as the other kept time with the music. England knew that this was restraint, because Portugal had a habit of dancing when a song with a good beat came on. 

He smiled to himself as a sense of pride temporarily overtook his anxiety about cooking for another person. Even after all these years, he still couldn’t believe his luck in having a companion who was so beautiful and strong and smart. And on top of that, Portugal was playful and brought a spark of adventure in England’s life that he could never resist. England, the usually careful gentleman, could never be so spontaneous and untethered on his own.  These were the moments that he felt the most in love, just the quiet ones when he remembered how special Portugal was.

 He slowly straightened up. His joints were not as pliable as they used to be, and certainly not after two hard fought world wars. He still let out a groan as he stood.

Portugal turned from what he was doing to give him a quick encouraging smile. It was enough to make England smile back. Then he turned back and went back to attending his contribution to the meal. 

England walked over to the bread dough, which had doubled in size as it should have. But, he was still somehow surprised when he pulled back the towel to see that the dough had, indeed risen. He gave it one poke, and it yielded as it should. 

He felt a deep suspicion at this lack of mishap, but perhaps it was the one time he would be lucky enough to not have anything go wrong. It was far from done, and disaster was still likely given England’s history in the kitchen.

 He dug his fingers into the sticky mass, and started to pull off handfuls to place on a baking sheet. He tried not to dwell on what had happened the other times he had attempted to bake. 

All of his colonies, with the notable exception of America, had complained when he cooked for them. England had always hated that mockery that it brought when he attempter to cook.

His hands stopped moving and he stared into the mass of the dough. How could he keep it from being the same this time?

Portugal spoke in his ear, “Are you alright?” England turned his head and realized that Portugal had walked across the kitchen just to comfort him. The uncertainty that had stilled his hands vanished as he met the Portuguese man’s eyes. 

He said, “I was just thinking.” It wasn’t the most honest answer, but he did not want to reveal all of his insecurities to his partner. But, Portugal already knew or guessed at what it was really about.  
He said, “You can do it, Arthur. I know you can.” 

He then pressed his lips against England’s for a single, sweet moment. England placed his hand on Portugal’s cheek, hoping to convey how grateful he was for this show of support. When their lips parted, Portugal said, “You should get those in the oven soon.”

England nodded, and turned back to his work. As he finished placing the pieces of dough on the sheet, Portugal placed a fish on a cutting board. With well practiced hand, Portugal started to fillet the fish.

England smiled and said, “I should have guessed that it would be fish.” That earned him a bemused raised eyebrow from his partner.  
Portugal countered, “You can never go wrong with fish. And the cod is particularly good this time of year.” 

The look on his face was playful, inviting England to contradict him. And, were it a different occasion, England might have taken the bait. He enjoyed the quick wit, and would like to indulge in it. 

But, he had to pay attention to brushing the tops of all the little dough balls in egg and then sprinkling them with salt. He hoped that it would impart enough crunch and flavor to make the bread enjoyable. He asked for nothing more than his cooking to be enough to just make someone smile. 

He saw Portugal return to the stove to place the fillets of cod in the pan. If he did not love the man so much, he might of been jealous of how easily cooking seemed to come to him. It was the kind of talent England desperately wished that he had. Instead of jealousy, he could only find continuing pride in how talented the man he loved was.

England opened the oven and placed the bread in the oven. As soon as he closed the oven, he remembered that he must set a timer. Usually, he assumed he would remember to remove the food from the oven at the right time, but that always resulted in burned food. 

He turned to find the timer, and was met with Portugal, who was already handing it to him. With an affirmative nod, England took the timer and set it.

Then there was nothing to do but to wait. He leaned against the counter and watched Portugal, who was now pouring some sort of broth into the pan after having placed the fish fillets in it.

England couldn’t begin to understand all the steps, but he didn’t need to. He could appreciate the light glinting off of Portugal’s hair, and the natural grace with which he moved. England said, eager for conversation, “Are you looking forward to this?” 

Portugal didn’t look directly at him, but England could see the familiar curling up at the corner of his lip. The reply came with a tone the left him with no doubt that he was smiling, “I am always happy to meet your boys. I know Isabelle will enjoy seeing us both.” 

England could think of plenty of reasons to not look forward to seeing his colonies. But, it was not polite to say that he still considered seeing most of the commonwealth as an annoyance rather than something to look forward to. So, like a gentleman, he kept the thought to himself. 

He had met Brazil many times before, and she at least was a pleasant guest, and had the presence to keep his colonies somewhat in line. He would be grateful if they could all get through dinner without at least one of his colonies causing a problem. 

But, Portugal really did look sincere in his enthusiasm, and England knew it would be very impolite to dim that enthusiasm. Instead, he said, “I only invited a few of them this time.” 

Portugal covered the pan he was working on and put it on low heat. Then he turned to England and said, “They will always be welcome, no matter how many there are.” 

The look in his eyes was almost like he invited the chaos and mischief. England responded, changing the subject slightly, “They like you, you know. Matthew said he thinks we are good together.”  
Portugal nodded, “Isabelle approves of you, too. She noticed my feelings for you before I really understood them.” 

England remembered that Brazil had made it very clear what would happen if he hurt Portugal. But, it had not been necessary, since England still wished to be a chivalric knight for Portugal, even so many centuries later. He would never do anything that he knew would hurt his partner. 

He was about to respond when the timer started ringing loudly. England quickly silenced it and grabbed a pair of oven mitts. As he removed the hot baking sheet, he looked down at the rolls, and couldn’t quite believe that they were golden brown. He had fully expected to see the usual black. 

He stood, stock still, in the middle of the kitchen, staring at perfectly normal bread rolls. Only when Portugal softly said his name, did England look up. Portugal said, “Arthur? Are you alright?” 

His eyes seemed like they could see straight through him. But, England couldn’t admit that he was surprised to see that something had turned out correctly. Instead, he swiftly nodded and placed the tray on the counter. 

He suspected that Portugal knew why he was in such shock. But, he hoped that his partner would not say anything, so he did not have to explain himself. Portugal instead said, “Close your eyes.”  
England responded, almost instinctually, “Why?”  
Portugal didn’t offer an explanation. Instead, he said, “Trust me.” 

With some intrigue, England did it. There was nothing but silence for a few seconds, until Portugal said, “Open your mouth.” England was suspicious, but he knew that the other wouldn’t do anything bad. So, he complied.

A soft piece of bread lighted on his tongue, and he instinctively closed his lips around it. As he chewed, he slowly opened his eyes to see his partner standing in front of him with half of one of the bread rolls in his hand, and a butter knife in the other. 

England found it hard to believe that he had made something delicious, but he couldn’t deny that the food currently on his tongue tasted good. Portugal raised one eyebrow and said, “Do you believe me now? I said you could do it.”

England felt an unbidden urge to tear up. Somehow, with enough help, he had managed to overcome his perpetual culinary curse. He said, trying to keep his composure, “It’s really good.” 

His voice quavered slightly, revealing how much a single piece of bread had effected him. Portugal replied, “You’re so cute.” He leaned in and kissed England lightly on the lips. 

It sent a flare of heat across England’s cheeks. When Portugal pulled away, England only managed to say, “I love you so much.”  
That earned him a sincere smile and a hand on his cheek. Portugal said, “I love you too. We should get ready for our guests; they will be here soon.”  


End file.
